


The Adventures of Robin Hood and his Merry Men

by veronamay



Category: Lord of the Rings RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe, Fluff and Crack, Legends, M/M, Not Beta Read
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2005-05-12
Updated: 2005-05-11
Packaged: 2017-11-27 06:15:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 6,540
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/658831
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/veronamay/pseuds/veronamay
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Crackfic.  And that's all the description you get from me.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is what happens when a plotbunny ambushes me when I'm trying to read literature. Therefore, I will never read literature again. Unbeta'd and totally, totally without merit.

Twas during the reign of the Lionheart that the world first did hear tell of the Man o' the Hood and his band of merry outlaws. Far and wide did the tales spread of their good deeds, depriving the rich of their wealth, dividing their gains among the poor, living deep in the heart of Sherwood Forest beyond the ken of ordinary folk. Children blessed them in their prayers and mothers, discovering a coin or two or a loaf of bread on a wintry doorstep, sent words of thanksgiving into the quiet morning air. Men gathered in taverns and houses to talk in low voices, half-wishing they were free of kith and kin to live wild together in the woodland.

As tales will evolve in the telling, it was not long before this mysterious band's leader was gifted with a name. It was a bold name, a friendly name, a good Saxon name. It was also, unfortunately, the wrong name.

Robin Hood's name was not, in fact, Robin. It was Dominic.


	2. Chapter 2

Now there were among this legendary band of men some few souls who stood out from the rest. These were Dominic's closest companions, who accompanied him everywhere (well, almost) and filled the forest with laughter and song of the slightly (very) bawdy variety. And they were closer than brothers, and never a woman came betwixt them in all the years of their wanderings together. And the peasantry of Nottinghamshire raised their eyebrows and whispered among themselves and wondered at how they kept the forest looking so clean.

There was young Will Scarlett, a bright and flexible lad of nineteen years who favoured clothing to match his name. A witty and sparkling youth he was, quick of hand and a right terror with the longbow, to the dismay of many a laden merchant who chanced through Sherwood. A fancier of silks and fine linens was he, and of the strong male limbs which flexed beneath, and lo, many conquests of romantic type fell under the o'erwhelming power of his chocolate brown gaze and lush sable curls.

John Little was a towering giant of a man with a thick dark beard and a Welsh lilt that hinted of wilder origins. He strode about in tunics and leggings made of his own kills, soft leather tanned by his own hand. A bluff and boisterous man was he, but gentle as a lamb among his own, and something of a fatherish figure to the younger men. They jokingly called him "Little John", and his fame as a wrestler of men flew across the fields as far as Lincoln.

Friar Tuck also there was, a tubby small tonsured soul of a somewhat Christian bent, once christened Sean (suspiciously so) before he took the vows of the brotherhood. He was fallen now from the strictest paths of his faith, but tended the outlaws as he could, though not without a healthy dose of complaint from time to time. He had also large and hairy feet, over which he tripped and fell and thus was often a source of vast amusement to all his fellows.

There were others of Dominic's loyal companions who were never far from his beck and call: Much the miller's son, a small elfin thing of pale skin and large eyes who seemed too delicate for the world; Clym o' the Clough, a rough brazen man whose voice bore the stamp of east London but who insisted he'd never been near the place in his life; and Adam Bell, a quiet-spoken northerner, golden of hair and wide of shoulder who rarely spoke above a murmur and carried a round leather ball stuffed with rags as he went about. These were they with whom Dominic o' the Hood spent his days (and nights), so perhaps his capture by his nemesis fairly early in his career as an outlaw was not all that surprising.


	3. Chapter 3

Loyal and hearty though Dominic's mates were, they were not always proof against the cunning and wily ... wiles ... of the notoriously evil Sheriff of Nottingham. It was known throughout the shire that the two infamous men had always been at odds, though for what reason no-one knew (beyond Dominic's wilful separation of the gentry and merchant classes from certain of their more precious and glinty worldly goods, that is). But so it had been since Dominic was but a wee lad, chasing after his father's long strides as they tilled their one and only field near Loxley. Such talk as could be had of Dominic's past was that he and the Sheriff had met as boys, afore class and criminality had affixed their souls forever, and that the meeting had not been a happy one. They had taken an instant dislike each to the other, it was said, and so set the tone for future meetings by scrapping and punching in a mud puddle like common lowborn dogs.

It was never explained, however, why the only dirt upon the boys when they were discovered was upon the back of one, and the knees of the other. But it was never spoken of and hence soon forgotten by all. The tale of hatred endured, and soon enough grew to become truth, whatever else may have been born upon that long-ago spring day.

The Sheriff of Nottingham, it was acknowledged, was by far the most evil-natured and despoiling creature outside the court of Prince John. To look at one might see naught more dangerous than a cream-fed cat; for he was cultured, and small of stature, and so graceful of hand and tongue as to make even the coldest of maidens melt under his green gaze. It was not until one unwound oneself from the magickal entrancement of his soft Scottish brogue that one noticed one's maidenhood had been completely stolen away, along with half the good silver and most of the whiskey. All in the name of the King, of course. Thus did the Sheriff pursue his ill-gained office, daring those he taxed unfairly to say aught aloud, their complaints falling upon far-distant ears as the King drove his knights on Crusade.

Dark rumours soon filtered out among the townsfolk of Nottingham, whispering of occult doings at the castle. The Sheriff went about dressed all in black, tunic of velvet and leggings of finest black deerskin, his legs encased in tight black boots to the knee. A great cloak of sable fastened with a silver circlet did he don in the colder months, and it was claimed by many that oftentimes a slithering, flickering tail could be glimpsed among its many folds. Small beasts took sick and died outside the walls of the castle, and never a dog would come near there but it whined and quivered and cowr'd in fear. And yet, to look upon the Sheriff was as to look upon an angel, for the most charming of men was he, with a sweet smile and a manner as mild as milk for those whom he wished to put at ease.

At present, the Sheriff himself was being put at his ease. He reclined lazily upon a bed of furs, his leggings unlaced and the dark head of his second, Guy of Gisbourne, buried in his crotch as he read various dispatches from London.

"... tithes from youre Shire have been moste remiss of layte, blah blah blah," he read. "We can only assume thise to be the Worke of ye infamous Man o' the Hoode, and We urge you moste heartily to Capture him and deal him swifte Justice as an Example to Alle."

The Sheriff snorted and threw the dispatch across the room. "Capture him! What a bloody good idea. Why haven't I thought of that before?" He shifted irritably as Gisbourne attempted to speak without sitting up. "No, don't stop," he instructed. "I need to relax while I can if I'm to go gadding about the bloody countryside looking for that runty little thief. Hurry up, will you?" He slapped Gisbourne's head as an inducement. "I haven't got all blasted day anymore."


	4. Chapter 4

Dominic was at that very moment contemplating the many pleasures offered by such a fine day as this. He and his Band Of Merry Men (TM) were out and about in their fair woods, hunting the King's deer as it pleased them and idly robbing any fools stupid enough to try and pass through Sherwood on their way to London. Truth be told, this was becoming less of a challenge than it used to be, since the men had some years ago set up numerous traps and snares which simply captured the hapless travellers until someone had the time to come and set them free. It was rather like a fur trader walking a trapline. And since Dominic's men were by now more than capable of checking, emptying and re-setting such traps alone, it left him with a lot of free time. He spent this in diverse and interesting ways: practicing his archery skills, primarily, which were truly abysmal. He was aware that his archery skillz were much talked of in the countryside; the brutal truth was, however, that Dominic could barely bend a bow, couldn't string one at all and had never in life fired an arrow straighter than a dog's hind leg. In fact, whenever he was called upon to shoot his mighty longbow, and provided he had enough prior notice, Dominic generally dressed Will Scarlett in his own Lincoln green and bade him stand upon his knees, averting his gaze from all. When no prior notice was available, he would plead indulgence for the lack of a spare string, or else run like a rabbit into the woods. But rarely did this circumstance arise, for one or another of the more able lads were usually about, and so Dominic grew secure in his protection.

He lay in the fork of a great old oak tree, biting his fingernails and trying to think of a clever method of getting into the storehouse of Nottingham Castle. It had been some time since he had tweaked the Sheriff's nose, and it was getting to be what he liked to call "their anniversary", so a reminder of times past was in order. Dominic went over the various guises and deceits he had tried in the past: serving maid (spotted tupping a stableboy and thus gave his game away); beggar (too clean to be authentic, and had all his teeth besides); visiting nobleman from Calais (nearly got through with that one, but spoke no French). Dear old William would be on the lookout for such other masks as he could conjure, Dominic thought, and so something more special was called for. Perhaps he could send Little John in as a serving maid?

At that particular moment, while he was basking in the warm sun thinking of his nemesis, William Boyd of Nottingham (formerly Glasgow) was also thinking of him – though in not nearly as warm a manner – as he saddled a horse and rode grudgingly out of the castle grounds with a dozen men-at-arms. Gisbourne rode at his side like a whipped dog, his long unkempt hair and darkly stubbled face hiding an innate sensitivity and a serious fetish for short men in positions of power. Alas, the Sheriff was barely aware of him, and so the faithful (or at least lustful) Gisbourne's devotion went mostly unrewarded. The Sheriff's mind was bent upon flushing the outlawry from Sherwood Forest at last; he was determined that Dominic had eluded him for long enough. Fleecing the gentry and such of their pretty baubles was one thing, but when taxes went awry and the court in London received less than their due, it was on Boyd's head the axe would fall in the form of badly spelled letters of chastisement from the King's Chancellor. Such horrors could deprive him of sleep for weeks, and he wasn't getting any younger.

The Sheriff and his men thundered along the road from Nottingham and passed the borders of Sherwood with nary a hitch. Their horses, good sturdy Norman stock bred for bearing men in full armour, shook the ground and caused some of the smaller bushes and trees to fall over, their roots coming free of the soil. The racket also caused the precariously perched Dominic to fall clear out of his leafy bower, straight into the grip of a very surprised William Boyd.

"Hello there, Billy," Dominic said cheerily. "Haven't seen you for a while, love. Did you miss me?"


	5. Chapter 5

"Do. Not. Call. Me. Billy," the Sheriff gritted, his jaw clenched tight enough to crack walnuts. "And get off me!" He tipped Dominic off to one side of the horse, ignoring the annoyingly predictable reaction of his body to the little sod's nearness. "Grab him, you fools!" he added harshly as Dominic sprawled on the ground in an alarmingly attractive way. "And don't let him up."

"Ooh, kinky," Dominic said, and stayed where he was, tucking his hands behind his head and grinning up at his archenemy. "Didst thou wish to have thy evil way with me afore we settle our scores, good my lord, or should you rather claim the spoils of victory, should you have one?"

"Shut up," the Sheriff snapped. "Gag him," he instructed Gisbourne, who nearly fell off his horse in his eagerness to obey. Dominic did look uncommonly handsome laid out as he was, legs akimbo, his long torso on full display, the shapely bulge of his manhood rising clearly against the tight cloth of his leggings....

The Sheriff tore his gaze away and focused on his gloved hands, gripping the reins of his horse. "You chose an ill day to wander alone in the forest, sirrah," he said. "I was on my way to flush you out, and here you have made my work easier! I thank you for that consideration."

"Billy, Billy, Billy." Dominic laughed and shook his head. "What on earth makes you think I'm here alone, my love?"

Boyd snapped his gaze back to Dominic, noticing Gisbourne sitting dazedly on the ground as he did so. "Gisbourne! What the bloody hell – I told you to gag him! What do you mean, you're not alone?" he continued to Dominic. "I don't see your glorious band of men traipsing about anywhere. And don't call me Billy!"

"What about lo—" Dominic glared as Gisbourne, having snapped out of his trance at being so close to such a gorgeous specimen of pocket-sized domination, quickly and regretfully stuffed a cloth into Dominic's mouth and tied a second rag around his head to keep it there. He scurried back to his horse, fearing to be caught and dragged even deeper by those mesmerising blue-grey eyes, which screamed of naughty things for the two of them to do together for hours upon hours, even days ...

The Sheriff was about to resume his speechifying and revel in his easy capture of the most famed outlaw in the land. It would be a grand speech, a thing of beauty and music and captivating five-pound words like "elusive" and "disembowel" and "exquisite" and "menage a trois" ... wait, no, that wasn't right—

Unfortunately, at that precise moment some two or three dozen hearty and cudgel-and-bow-bearing men came boiling out of the trees, all dressed in varying hideous shades of green (or what the colour-blind ones thought was green but was actually chartreuse) and surrounded the arresting party. Will Scarlett stalked to the fore and hefted his bow in a manner that suggested he might possibly know which side of it to bend.

"Hold!" he shouted, a fine ringing yell that deafened two squirrels three miles away. "Unhand ye this man, lest we bring pain and agony among you!"

"Oh, for God's sake," Dominic said, or at least tried to through the gag. It came out more as, "Uheroffag!", but everyone knew what he meant. Everyone except Will, that is, but then he wasn't too good at translating foreign languages. Or recognising them, for that matter.

"We sort of have you surrounded, Sheriff old chum," said Little John, who had a meaty hand clapped over Will's mouth. "Sorry to disturb, and all that, but it really would be best if you could just let our man go free and then trip off home, all right?"

The Sheriff sneered his very best sneer and surveyed John from atop his horse. He had to crane his neck a little to meet the peasant's gaze. "When hell freezes over," he said clearly. "This man is an avowed outlaw and, more to the point, a personal pain in my arse, and I plan to see that justice is done him at my earliest convenience. And unless you'd like to join him in my deepest dungeon, I advise you to close your great oafish mouth and back quietly away, and take your thieving little friends with you."

Little John hesitated, and cast a glance at Dominic (who was writhing around on the ground, his arms and legs held by four men-at-arms, his eyes wide and clearly trying to communicate something to his trusty lieutenant). This went on for some few minutes until Dominic was covered in sweat, his guards were breathing heavily and the Sheriff was quite unable to feel his legs.

"I'm sorry, Dom," John said at last. "I cannot understand a word ye're tryin' to say t'me."

"I believe, good John, our brave leader is trying to communicate his willingness to face the errors of his ways," said a new and pompous voice. A tonsured man of short stature – was there no end to the delicious creatures? thought Gisbourne in despair – shuffled through and cast a pitying glance down at his fallen leader, who was now nodding in vehement and urgent agreement.

"Well ..." John looked doubtful. "I dunno what trick ye're up to this time, young Dominic, but I hope you know what ye're doin'."

Dominic looked up at his tall friend and nodded some more, lying quiescent on the ground now that his aim had been achieved. Then he cut his eyes over to the Sheriff, who was caught before he knew it.

The Sheriff looked down into Dominic's searing blue eyes, thought of having the wretch alone, at his mercy, behind a locked door. He damn near fainted.


	6. Chapter 6

The Band Of Not-So-Merry Men watched the black-bedecked (and therefore obviously evil) Sheriff bear their bold and valiant leader away on his horse, headed for a fate worse than death. And if the Sheriff wore an expression that was half-alarmed, half-ecstatic, well – who could blame him? For he held captive a treasure that dozens – nay, hundreds – of the good folk of Nottinghamshire had dreamed of possessing. (And more than a few had, but that, dear friends, is another tale entirely.)

"Will he ever come back, do you think?" Friar Tuck asked, clasping his hands before him to hide an unsightly bulge which had appeared there. Little John glanced at him (so as not to step on him) and sighed.

"I dunno. The Sheriff's had it in for him for an awful long time. Since they was boys, or so it's said."

"Said by who?" piped up young Much, his eyes large and blue and liquid with excitement at the hint of a story. Or a hint of anything, really. Much was rather impressionable, especially when it came to Dominic. "Won't you tell us, John?"

"Nah, I don't know enough to say," John said. "But 'ere – young Will knows most of it, as was told him by Dom himself. Tell on, why don't you, Will?"

Scarlett took a few steps forward and cleared his throat. "It would grieveth me sorely to violate such a sacred oath of confidence as I took upon hearing our master's story," he began. Annoyed grumbling began to swell in the ranks and he added hurriedly, "But seeing as we are all brothers here, I see no harm in telling you all that he told me. Only, since I do not wish to wholly break my oath, I will not speak a word but instead will share with you my knowledge in the form of interpretive dance."

So saying, the beautiful youth struck a pose that looked something like a goose trying to mate with a clothesline, and was off.

* * *

Meanwhile, on the back of a rather large and smelly horse:

"D'you think you could slow it down a bit, love?" Dominic asked, breathless. He was face down over the horse's haunches and his ribs were being jolted with every step. "I'd much rather sit up and hang tightly onto you."

"No." The Sheriff didn't look back. "Now shut up. You're my bloody prisoner, for God's sake."

"Oh, are we still playing? All right then." Dominic winced as his ribs started to bruise. He glanced up at Boyd's back, thinking, then cautiously worked his way around until he could swing a leg over and sit more or less upright. This did relieve the pressure on his torso, but now he was caught with his thighs widespread and a large amount of friction, warmth and pressure against his manly bits, and a very attractive (though pale in all that black) Sheriff in front of him, all his for the ogling.

The results were predictable.

By the time they arrived back at Nottingham Castle, Dominic was in a very bad way indeed. He had spent the last fifteen or so minutes of the journey listing the things he would like to do to yonder Sheriff, starting with his teeth and ending with a certain patch of mud in a certain field which neither of them had seen since they were ten years old. While this was a more than agreeable way to pass the time, it did not provide much in the way of bodily satisfaction, and Dominic looked now to his noble nemesis instead.

The Sheriff threw him off the horse's back and slid down with an unfair amount of grace. Dominic folded into an untidy heap on the ground – his favourite position, were it known – and grinned sunnily. The Sheriff spared him a sneer before looking around for a lackey.

"Gisbourne!" he called. "Get over here and bring this baggage to— no, wait, what am I saying? Not you, Gisbourne, you can't be trusted with anyone under six feet. Oh, never mind, I'll do it myself. Get up, you," and he nudged Dominic in the side with one elegantly booted foot. Dominic looked at the boot and considered biting it to see if it was as soft as it looked.

"Yes, sir, right away, sir," he murmured, and crawled lazily to his feet. The Sheriff looked stonily past his shoulder, turning him none too gently round and starting him off with a push to his back.

"Through the doors, up the stairs on the left and along the corridor above," Boyd said in his ear. "And don't say a bloody word."

Dominic shivered in delight and did what he was told. For now, anyway.

* * *

"... and that's all I know, I swear," Will finished up. He looked around at the Now-Totally-Fucking-Bewildered Men and held up a hand. "And don't ask for any encores, please."

Clym o' the Clough uncrossed his eyes with some difficulty. "I have no idea what all you just said, mate," he said hoarsely, "but I'm glad I was here to see it. Bloody hell." And he wandered off into the woods, his brief cameo over, his dreams filled with languid images of lithe young limbs twisting into Tantric positions for weeks to come.

Adam Bell, taciturn northerner of stout heart that he was, blinked once or twice, showing that he was deeply affected by the touching story of the Sheriff and the King of Thieves. Then he grunted incomprehensibly and clutched his ball to his chest and didn't speak a word.

Young Much, unfortunately, was a quivering shambles of a wreck, lying skewif and in total abandon on the forest floor, anyone's for the taking. Will, deciding that it was his turn, scooped the youth up on his way to restring his bow and wash his hair.

Little John remained among the unnamed extra Men, completely baffled and none the wiser as to what the bloody hell was actually going on.


	7. Chapter 7

"Alone at last," Dominic purred once they were behind a closed, locked, bolted and furniture-stacked-against door. He stalked across the room toward the Sheriff who, forgetting that he was supposed to be in charge here, quickly took evasive action and hid behind a fire screen. "So, now that you've got me at your mercy, whatever are you going to do to me?"

"The King insisted that I catch you for the various nefarious acts of robbery and general disturbance you've been causing in the shire," the Sheriff said stiffly. "You've been dipping into his tax money, see, and that's not good when he's got a Crusade to run and a villanous younger brother to outwit. Therefore it is my duty to place you under arrest and demand that you confess to your crimes to save us all the hassle and hoo-ha of a public trial. "

Dominic pouted. "You mean you didn't want to get me in your evil devil-worshipping clutches and have your way with me? At all? Ever?" He sank down onto a conveniently placed fainting couch. "Bugger. You got me all excited, you know."

The Sheriff stared at him. "What the bloody hell— Are you saying— ?"

Dominic perked up. "Yes, love?" His eyes glinted with an unseemly amount of lust. "Do go on. Pretty please with many, many luscious cherries on top."

Boyd stepped out from behind the fire screen, pacing up and down the chamber and throwing his hands into the air at odd intervals while he nattered to himself. He seemed to have entirely forgotten Dominic's presence in the room.

"Twenty fucking arsing years," he muttered. "God only knows how many sleepless wretched nights full of heated desire and twisted need, how many sheets of parchment covered in prose so purple you could wallpaper the fucking palace with it. Weeks on end of frustration and wanking without relief – and NOW he tells me he wants it?" He stopped ranting and turned to face Dominic, his face dark with fury and a scary amount of want. "Wanker!" he yelled at full volume. Then he dropped to the floor in that dead faint he'd narrowly avoided back in the forest.

Dominic looked at the man sprawled in unconscious abandon at his feet and contemplated the tricksy nature of the universe. "Huh," he said. Then he looked around for something to help him make a bed.

* * *

Much the miller's son awoke with a start. He looked around himself and was shocked to discover he'd apparently had a wee bit of nookie with Scarlett, of all people. Shame he couldn't remember any of it. Well, maybe they could do it again sometime....

Then it all came back to him: the dance, the explanation, the carrying off of his noble master Dominic at the hands of that scoundrelly Sheriff. It would not do! He must rescue Dominic (and possibly do naughty things to him when they were on their way back to rejoin the lads).

Much stood up, strode of purposefully, fell over, pulled up his pants and repeated the whole cycle. There was planning and staging to be done, and he was the man to do it. Boy. What-EVER.


	8. Chapter 8

As the day turned to a quiet dusk, Much sneaked warily into the castle grounds dressed as a beggar (albeit in clothes far too big for him which trailed along the ground for yards behind). He congratulated himself on getting this far without being assailed by guards and whatnot. What he didn't know was that the guards had a book going on exactly when the Sheriff and Robin Hood would finally go at it, and those who had the slot for the next two hours were actively keeping everyone else out of Much's way. The bet called for independent witnesses, so they were taking no chances. Plus, the image of the waifish yet wholly mental young thief pouncing on his master and the Sheriff mid-coitus was far too funny to stop.

The boy entered the courtyard and glanced up at the windows of the castle, trying to imagine which was the evil Sheriff's evil lair. His gaze flew from one to the next, not that one, no, no, definitely not – then stopped short at a window, lit from within by candlelight, which showed a weird and frightening (and yet overwhelmingly hot) shadow writhing on the wall inside. Much stared at it for a few moments, then drew in a deep, shuddering breath and flew up the stairs inside the hall, tripping over his icky robes every few steps and cursing under his breath as he went.

* * *

Picture this: a bright April morn, the air shimmering with promise, butterflies upon the wing and all that other poetic nonsense that sets the scene. A boy of ten works with his father in a field, plowing neat rows for a crop of wheat that will sell at obscenely high prices in the market come September.

The boy breaks away from his father and wanders near to the road, where he happens upon a finely dressed young man near his own age. The two converse for a bit, passing the time of day, then the peasant lad invites the other to walk with him in the tall green grass. They disappear with barely a rustle, and all is quiet for a time.

"What the bloody hell d'you think you're doing?"

The cry echoes through the air. A few seconds later the boys tumble out of the grass, covered in seeds and patched over with mud and other attractive bits of undergrowth. The peasant lad's father comes a-running from his luncheon to see what the hell is going on.

"You attacked me!" The older lad is sputtering in shock (and quite a bit of denial). "What are you playing at?"

Dominic (for it is he, the saucy wretch) tries to play innocent. "You know what I was doing," he said with a wink. "Why else did you fall to the ground in front of me like that?"

"I fainted, you idiot!" the other yelled. "It was not an invitation!"

Dominic's mouth turned down in a truly fearsome pout. "Well, fine," he sulked. "I know when I'm not wanted." He looked the other boy up and down. "I can do better anyway."

The stranger stares after him, mouth agape, nary a comeback or witty retort to be found. In that moment a deep, heartfelt and totally overwrought hatred is born of a size just right to cover the inordinate amount of lust he feels for the lad walking away across the field.

The imaginary feud endures for the next twenty years, until Dominic falls out of a tree and smack into William Boyd's greedy clutches.

* * *

The shagging part, now that they had finally gotten to it, was absolutely exquisite.

Dominic was a rough kisser, taking control from the word go and making sure his Billy knew it. Boyd, for his part, melted into a wibbly bit of double brie cheese from the knees down and was quite prepared to do whatever he was told as long as he didn't have to get more than two inches away to do it. He was flushed with desire and harder than one of those high-tensile wires that holds up suspension bridges. Dominic laid an exploring hand on his cock and crowed with delight.

"Mine mine mine mine mine," he chanted, stripping Billy out of his clothes. "Oh, you are going to have such a sore arse, Billy my lad. Do you know how long I've been imagining this?"

Billy – Sheriff? what Sheriff? – listened to Dominic's warm gravelly voice and felt like his blood was whiskey, making him drunk all over. He fell onto the bed, writhing around on the furs like a debauched serving wench, whimpering incoherently. Dominic followed him down in record time and proceeded to lick every inch of him from neck to ankle, slowly and with great attention to detail. Dominic made Billy yell when he nuzzled, tasted and finally swallowed his cock, sucking with great enthusiasm and hard-earned skill. Dominic grinned and hummed his approval, rubbing his tongue underneath the crown, driving Billy mental in approximately five-point-three seconds.

"Dom – I'm – you're –" he gasped, and that was as far as he got before his orgasm ambushed him from behind, conked him on the head and dragged him into a dark alley to rifle his pockets.

It was messy. It was loud. It was floor-bangingly spectacular.

When he started breathing again, Billy found himself face-down on the furs with Dominic's fingers doing wonderful things to his nether regions. Seeing no cause for complaint, he put his head down on his folded arms and began to moan in encouragement, bringing his knees up beneath him to give Dominic better access.

"Do you have any lubrication, Billy, love?" Dominic asked a moment later, his voice deep and hoarse enough to use as sandpaper. Billy unwound an arm and pointed lazily to a dresser across the room.

"Blue pot," he mumbled. "Don't be long." He was still shaking with aftershocks.

Dominic was there and back before he finished speaking. "Going to fuck you senseless, William Boyd," he whispered in Billy's ear. His hard body was flush against Billy's, his cock poking insistently into Billy's arse.

"Prove it," Billy whispered back, and shoved back against him. Dominic groaned and dropped back to open him with his fingers.

"Hurry hurry hurry," Billy said, his body recovering quicker than it had any right to. He twisted down onto Dom's fingers, feeling the burn and stretch inside, wanting more of it. "Haven't got all day, Dominic."

"All right, all right," Dominic said, then laughed. "Ready or not, here I come!" And he plunged in, carefully but deep, and Billy threw his head back and hissed a deep, "Yessssssssssssssss," of ecstasy.

Thrusting was good, Billy decided. He liked that. He also rather liked how Dominic was all grabby and hard up against his back, and how deep and strong he was moving, and how he seemed to know by instinct how to find and hit that single tingling spot inside every – single – time.

"Oh, Christ," he said in an almost normal tone of voice. "Here I go again."

The second orgasm was, in a word, a steamroller. Billy was left smooshed and breathless afterward, but very, very relaxed. He did try and encourage Dominic through to his own rather snazzy climax, but to be honest he was too shagged out to do more than lie there and moan.

He thought he'd like to reciprocate, and he would. As soon as he recovered; maybe sometime next year would be doable.

* * *

Much had tried for several minutes to unlock the suspicious-looking door he found along the corridor. There were muffled thumping noises and voices coming from the chamber, which told him he was probably on the right track to finding his beloved master. If he could just get into the room ...!

Footsteps thudded along the corridor, and Much looked around in a panic. He saw a tall, unkempt yet strangely attractive man walking toward him, and recalled that this was Gisbourne, the Sheriff's nasty henchman and general ne'er do well. Much straightened his spine and vowed to act with honour, valour and all that other good stuff that made it into tales and ballads.

"Are they finished yet, do you think?" Gisbourne asked out of the blue. Much's mouth fell open and he stared, looking rather like a stunned mullet.

"Huh?" he managed to say after a moment. Gisbourne looked impatient.

"The Sheriff and your Robin Hood," he explained. "They're in there shagging, and we want to announce the winners of the betting pool only we don't have an independent witness as yet. You'll do – if you can just get a look into the room we can call it good and split the winnings, yeah?"

"I can't get in," Much said. "The door's locked and bolted." He sighed forlornly. His poor master, at the mercy of that dastardly brute the Sheriff! However could he live with the agony?

"Hm," Gisbourne said. "Come on next door. I'll sling you out the window and you can stick your head in there and have a gander." He dragged Much with him to the neighbouring chamber and heaved him unceremoniously out the window.

"Eeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeek!" Much screamed, finding himself held only by the hips and thighs. He grabbed hold of the stone wall of the castle and did his best to peer round through the window of the Sheriff's chamber. What he saw there made him forget everything else, including his name. "Oh my holy everlasting God," he breathed.

"What? Are they boffing? Is it official? What?" Gisbourne shook him. "Speak up, boy!"

There was silence from outside the window. Gisbourne sighed in annoyance and looked down, suddenly noticing the boy's rather large and – naturally – hairy feet. His eyes widened, his face flushed, and he began to feel rather warm.

"Okay, bring me back in," Much called. "It's official." He swung back inside, pushing back against Gisbourne to gain purchase. "They're at it like rabbits," he confirmed. And here he'd thought Dominic needed rescuing. HA.

Gisbourne was red-faced, staring at something on the floor. Much looked down but couldn't see anything of interest besides his own bare and dirty feet.

"What're you looking at?" he asked bluntly. Gisbourne started and flushed even darker, his eyes skittering around before meeting Much's own.

"Er, nothing," he said, very unconvincingly. "So the bet's all done, then? Splendid. Let's go share the good news, shall we?" He twitched his tunic, trying to conceal one of those horribly obvious bulges that had appeared on so many men during the course of the day. Much glanced at it, then at his own feet, put two and two together and grinned. (He was a bright lad.)

"Shouldn't we get to know each other better first?" he said silkily. "If I'm to be your witness and everything, I mean." He slipped behind Gisbourne and kicked the chamber door shut. "My name is Much, by the way."

Gisbourne looked at the imp before him bent on seduction, and caved in with barely a whimper.

* * *

"Bloody brilliant," Dominic sighed, his breath evening out. "Why'd we wait twenty years again?"

"Buggered if I know," Billy said.

"Just did that," Dominic pointed out.

"Proves my point." Billy yawned. "Your turn next. Prepare yourself."

"S'long as I don't have to move from this spot, Bills, you can do whatever the fuck you like," Dominic said.

And so there was much shagging and merrymaking in Nottingham Castle, and all across the shire people did rejoice in the knowledge that their evil Sheriff wasn't really that evil after all, just horribly angsty and misunderstood. And while he continued to lay nefarious traps to catch Robin o' the Hood in the name of the King, it was all in good fun and they usually had a jolly good bonking afterward.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for being insane enough to actually read this. Now take two aspirin and a ferret and call me in the morning.


End file.
